Ravi woke up gasping in the dark, his heart slamming like a drum.

The dream had been enormous and terrible. A face the size of the sky, with too many eyes, all of them on fire. Mouths that opened and opened. A roaring that filled everything. He had been so small beneath it, falling, with nothing to hold on to. Now, awake in his bed in the little house in Mithila, he still felt the roaring in his chest. Even Moti, his puppy, had lifted his head and was whining softly.

Ravi called out — just one word, the way you do — "Nani!"

The door opened. A warm yellow lamp came in, and behind it, Nani's face, crinkled and soft and entirely ordinary, her grey hair in its night braid.

She sat on the edge of the bed and put her cool hand on his hot forehead.

"A big dream?" she asked.

Ravi nodded, and the whole thing came tumbling out: the burning eyes, the roaring, the falling, how huge it was and how tiny he was.

Nani did not laugh and did not say "it was only a dream" in the way that makes a child feel silly. She just held his hand and let him finish.

"Now," she said gently, "the dream is gone. Don't be frightened anymore, and don't be all muddled up inside. Look — open your eyes properly. Here is my face. The face you know. The same Nani who made your dinner, who paints the birds on the wall, who tucks you in. Look at me."

Ravi looked. He saw the little gap in her front teeth when she smiled, the tiny gold stud in her nose, the laugh-lines around her eyes. Slowly, breath by breath, the roaring drained out of his chest.

"There," Nani said. "The frightening face is gone. The gentle one is right here, and it was always the one that loved you." She kissed the top of his head. "Be easy in your heart now. I'm not going anywhere."

Ravi let go of the dream, the way you let go of a held breath, and was glad.